


company of carmine

by Hnybnny



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Original Work
Genre: Diary/Journal, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-03
Updated: 2020-09-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:53:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26261446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hnybnny/pseuds/Hnybnny
Summary: Various non-chronological drabbles, snippets, and journal entries regarding one Peter Hemlocke, anxious teenage grandson of the goddess of death, and his adventures in the Boreal and beyond alongside a group of fellow wanderers initially joined in employment for what was supposed to be one simple job.This is for ease of sharing with the rest of my Dungeons & Dragons group, so don't expect to understand anything unless you already know the characters-





	1. after the fire

Yune imperceptibly flinched at the sudden light weight around them- Peter had taken off his noble blue baroque coat and had draped it gently around their shoulders, his hands lingering only for a moment longer than normal. Yune glanced sideways at the boy as he crouched awkwardly, all long, gangly limbs, and settled down to sit next to them- they thought briefly about rejecting the coat and giving it back, but brushed the idea off, as they could not will their limbs to move. The gesture (and the coat itself) was… oddly comforting, with a strange paternal energy to it that was unfamiliar- and perhaps unnatural- to Yune, and so they simply pulled the large coat tighter around themselves and went back to staring straight ahead at the wreckage of the Copper Scales. 

To Yune’s surprise, Peter did not speak- they were expecting some speech or sentimental words that Peter always seemed to have handy, but the bard was strangely silent. Not that Yune was complaining, but…

Many minutes passed before the silence was broken, and it was Yune who opened their mouth- “This coat seems important to you,” they said simply- stupidly, they thought afterwards. 

Peter mhmm’d in answer, and that was all Yune thought they were going to get out of him for a time. Like Yune, his gaze was focused on some nonexistent point on the horizon, and for the first time Yune noticed the bags under his eyes. Then, he seemed to find the words he was looking for after much hesitation. “It was my father’s.” he explained, voice soft and wistful. “He gave it to me before he died. It’s... all I have left of him.” 

Yune muttered a ‘sorry,’ and Peter waved it away. “It’s fine, nothing to apologize for- it’s only fitting with the trend of familial exposition going on, no?” He quirked an eyebrow and Yune couldn’t help but snort in laughter- this made a smile appear on Peter’s lips, and he seemed less tired, if only for a moment. They both did.

“You don’t have to tell me anything,” Peter said again, after another long pause. “But… whatever it is,” Peter turned then, towards them, “Yune, you don’t have to go through it alone.” He moved as if to put his hand comfortingly on Yune’s shoulder, but held back.

“There’s the sentimental bullshit I was waitin’ for,” Yune scoffed under their breath, and Peter looked like a puppy that had just been kicked. A conflicted look flashing briefly across his features before it settled upon something like resigned sadness, and Peter faced forwards again, pulling his knees up to his chin and wrapping his arms around his long legs. 

Yune felt a pang of regret even as they sat in silence, and it felt like two sides of themself were at war. It wasn’t until many minutes later, eyes still locked on the smoldering ruins of what was once the inn, did the adventurer speak. 

It was soft, barely above a whisper, so much so that initially Yune couldn’t be sure if the young man even heard- but out of the corner of their eye, they saw the faintest of smiles, and knew. 

_ “Thank you, Peter.”  _


	2. a journal entry, being a prayer to the goddess

Cloudrend 29, 654 A.S.

I suffered a night terror last night.

I do not know why I am writing this down here- I do not believe it is to tell you, O Goddess. I do not write of my night terrors on the few occasions I have them, as the last thing I want is to worry you further for my sake. But… something is different this time. It feels good to be back in Carmine, but I need to put this down to parchment now, if only to ease my soul somewhat. 

It was, unsurprisingly, of the events in that accursed place underneath the Bard’s College, on whatever unworldly plane it may reside. Those happening in my vision, specifically. It… I am bothered by it, to be quite truthful. The fear I felt was suffocating and unlike anything I had ever felt before. How you appeared I do not understand, but the entity (as I have taken to referring it) did not take kindly to your intrusion- that enough was apparent. On that note, I am worried about you. How silly you must think it- for a mortal to be worried about a goddess- but I cannot help myself. Aster said that we, being he and I, would need to check up on you soon. Hopefully today… he made me swear not to try and do it myself. Not that I even know how to do such a thing. 

It scared me, seeing you overpowered like that… I tried to reassure myself it was only because you were fighting on its home turf so to speak, so you were not in your element, but still the images seared themselves into my mind. The runes along the perimeter, broken, is that perhaps a sign? I may once again accompany Carlyle next time he scouts out the ruins. I remember that thing in the well, how it was still intact. But the way it just threw you-

Ah, you must forgive me. My thoughts are scattered, and such are my musings. There is much to think about, and I have neglected to write in some time… the events since we last left Carmine were so turbulent that updating you was one of the last things on my mind- I apologize. Of course, you are divine and I am sure you are aware of much that goes on and so such a thing is unnecessary, but writing this all down makes things… easier, so to speak. Much like a journal, no? It makes me feel better. There, I said it. Please do not think your sole descendent is weak, but simply… there is a lot to think about, so many things bouncing around inside my head, that it easily becomes overwhelming. I must keep writing, if only for my own sake.

For example, I reunited with Cornelia- you remember her, yes?- in Rosohna, and I daresay I worried her much as I, without realizing, verbally unloaded everything that had happened upon her confused person. I… do not have anyone to truly talk to besides you, through this book, even if I do not know if you read my entries. Of course, there are the others in our party, and Cornelia pointed it out to me, but each of them have enough on their shoulders. I do not wish to add to that! That, and I find it difficult to converse with them sometimes, especially about the more heavy topics or personal subjects; we oft dance around the metaphorical elephant in the room. To my surprise I was able to coax more than a few words out of Yune on the ride back from the ruins yesterday, but little more. Perhaps I should try speaking to Henry once again… but it is hard to even bring things up. How do you even start such a heavy conversation? He has his brother now, however, so that can most likely wait. 

Speaking of said brother, it brings up another topic that is troubling me deeply, something that happened upon our travels away. First off, his name is Edward. Edward Lepp. He is a paladin, and seems to have an unjust view of you and your followers- another subscriber to the ‘cannibal’ stereotype, I am afraid. Though, in his case, it was justified… we encountered a town in the mountains before your meeting with Yune (I pray you were kind to them, and I pray they were polite in turn as I know they can come off roughly). They turned us away quite coldly, having a distaste for adventurers, though it would be more apt to call it a fear. They had a run-in with a group of armored men that displayed their power through a rain of holy arrows upon an outlying part of the town. I would later deduce and be confirmed that it was Edward and his men. I… must admit that, when we encountered each other in front of the Bard’s College later in Rosohna and I confronted him about his actions, I lost my temper. I was furious, rightfully so, because I thought that he had slaughtered innocent people just for who they followed as he told me they were your worshippers- but I did not have all the facts. 

It is as you once told me- every side is vital to a story’s completion.

According to Edward, this town was home to those that proved his prejudices- that is to say, cannibals. They confronted the townspeople with this information, but they denied it and were shouted out of town. They then. . . took matters into their own hands, with the aforementioned arrow attack being on the cannibalistic townspeople and their residences. I know that he truly thought these people to be cannibals- although I have no proof I can write of- because when he pulled me out of the hallway we were ensnared in, one of his men cast us in a Zone of Truth as he asked whether your worshippers were supposed to be cannibals, and he told me the above while in the square area. Yet, I cannot help but wonder if they were truly consuming flesh. . . though, considering you did not urge me to strike him down where he stood in an act of divine vengeance, I must assume he was correct. 

That brings to mind another concern I had actually forgotten about! Edward knew about me. He knew of my link to you, one that was beyond a simple patron. He was the one to instantly identify me as your scion, when we first met in one of Rosohna’s taverns. I was instantly taken aback, struck silent- to be honest, it made me  _ afraid _ . I suppose I must be more careful in my travels, or mayhaps his own god granted him such information as a paladin, but. . . 

Ah, I can hear Yune yelling my name from down the stairs. I must not be late for breakfast! Mirriam is a most excellent cook- I’ll be sure to put a little aside as an offering as always. I hope you like bacon. 

I shall finish these thoughts some other time, then. 

Faithfully yours, as always,

Peter Hemlocke 


	3. a journal entry, being a plea to the goddess

???, 654 A.S. 

I am a fool. 

A useless, good for nothing fool. 

The rest sleep as I write this, though Darlington keeps watch. I say something about being too restless for sleep to claim me- I am not lying to him. 

We are about a day’s ride out from Carmine at this point. I can see the worry in Yune’s eyes, although they do not say anything, for I daresay I have not spoken more than a handful of words since leaving the homestead. I was never good at hiding my emotions, at keeping a plain face. I am sure the dark feelings brewing inside me are obvious enough to see. 

We should have gone after Dusty. . . I should have gone after him. He said he wanted nothing to do with us anymore, but. . . I was too in shock from the prior events to question him further, or to run after him. I could have caught up, I’m sure. I hope he is alright. I pray you watch over him. He is a good person, dealt a bad hand, now having lost the last of what he had. I would like to see him again. I want to apologize. For. . . everything, I suppose? For not doing more. 

At least. . . I kept the boneclaw at bay, with the light, so I suppose my frail self is not as entirely useless as some- including I- claim. How easily that wretch took me down, though. . . I can still practically feel its claw within me, scraping across my scapula. I felt you too, then. You were close. I was. . . I was close. I could almost see it, I could hear Father ever so faintly, and then- I was awake. Yune saved me, with one of the potions of healing stashed on my person. I owe them one. A quick thinker, they are. But still, a part of me wishes they were not. I was. . . I am so tired. 

I wish I could do more. I wish I could do something, anything right for once. To not cause the potential destruction of the only place I’ve had to call home, with the only friends I have had since. . . 

Sometimes I wonder if perhaps you should not have gifted my mother with the opportunity you did. Perhaps you should not have gifted  _ me _ . That way, she might still be here now.

She would be a much better ‘hero’ than I can hope to ever be.

She would have done this world more good than I. 

She would. . . 

My hand is shaking too hard to hold the quill now. Blast. 

I apologize, O Goddess, for subjecting you to my pathetic self-loathing like some sort of petulant child. Good night. 

Pe--r H-ml--k 

_ (The signature is partially smudged from drops of liquid) _


End file.
